This week, Utah lost a soldier of real stature. Maj. Gen. James M. Miller passed away quietly in St. George, surrounded by family. He was a military leader of consequence, but to those who knew him best, Jim Miller was far more than a general. He was a teacher’s teacher and a mentor.
My connection with Jim Miller began not in the halls of government or under the formalities of military review, but in a fifth grade classroom in Cedar City. It was 1962, and I was an 11-year-old student at South Elementary School. Jim Miller was in the earliest stages of his education career and a first lieutenant in the Utah National Guard.
His teaching was vibrant, filled with energy and always laced with stories — some from books, others drawn straight from his military training. He didn’t just teach subjects; he inspired curiosity. He had a presence that made us want to learn, and a kindness that made us feel seen.
A fifth grade classmate of mine had a hard secret. He could not read. While protecting my friend’s dignity, Jim worked privately with him until he could read. That student went on to earn a Ph.D.
By the time I was in high school, Jim Miller was back in my life again as Cedar High School’s principal. He had also risen to a more senior rank in the National Guard, and the leadership qualities I had first glimpsed in elementary school had only deepened.
During my senior year, I faced a dilemma that many young men of that era will understand. I hoped to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But the draft was active, and the Selective Service Board only allowed two deferments per church congregation for missionary service. Others in my congregation had higher priority. Unless I found another way to fulfill my military obligation, my mission would be out of reach.
Jim knew my dilemma and helped. One day, during class, Jim Miller called me aside and said, “If you’re at the National Guard armory by 2 o’clock this afternoon, there will be a slot for you.” His awareness paved the way for me to serve both my country and my God.
Later, Jim was not only serving as the commander of an artillery battalion, but he was also training teachers at Southern Utah University. Again, he nudged me forward, encouraging me to attend Officer Candidate School. I did. Upon my return, he mentored me, asking me to be his driver during summer training. During those weeks together I observed his leadership in action, the confident but jovial way he dealt with people. Watching him taught me lessons that extended far beyond the military. They were lessons about decision-making, accountability and the kind of steadiness that others instinctively follow.
Jim continued to rise, becoming a brigadier general in the National Guard and simultaneously the dean of the School of Education at Southern Utah University.
In 1992, I was elected governor of Utah. Not long after, it was my duty to choose a new adjutant general of the Utah National Guard. I considered the candidates and then offered the appointment to Maj. Gen. James M. Miller.
Gen. Miller served as Utah’s adjutant general for nearly six years. In that role, he oversaw both the Army and Air Guard. His leadership was calm, capable and unpretentious — just as it had always been.
On occasion, I would ride with Jim Miller standing in the back portion of a military vehicle reviewing the troops. He was the commander of troops, and I was the commander in chief. I often thought about the improbable circle of a fifth grade student appointing his teacher as commander of the Utah National Guard. But it was far more than that. It was a governor who knew firsthand the leadership qualities of this soldier teacher.
There are many lessons to be drawn from the story of Jim Miller’s life. One is the value of mentorship, the quiet kind that changes lives not with grand gestures, but with thoughtful conversations and well-timed nudges. Another is the beauty of long relationships, where roles evolve, but mutual respect never fades. And perhaps most importantly, it’s a reminder that leadership comes in many forms. Jim Miller trained teachers and led battalions of soldiers. He did so with humility and a deep understanding that people matter most.
On April 7, 2025, Gen. James M. Miller died, surrounded by his family. In a tender conversation just before he died, I told him what he had meant to my life. He knew. And I knew.
Utah has lost a soldier. I’ve lost a teacher and a friend. But the lessons he taught me, and countless others, will endure forever.